I have grown so much. I’ve pushed myself beyond the bounds of what I thought I needed to find joy, what I thought I found desirable, what I thought was possible.

It was a year ago today I shook hands with a man who, I would very soon learn, was to become central to my life.

Last weekend I found myself on the floor in a play-space that had been made sacred by the labor and intentions of a close-knit group of people. There isn’t anything particularly special about a hotel ballroom. And there sure as hell isn’t anything special about the hideous carpeting in said ballroom.

But there is a magic when you realize that you are being pushed into the aforementioned hideous carpet and you feel every inch of skin being abraded against it as you writhe on the floor, trying to breathe.

I was past coherency. I didn’t think about anything clearly except how it was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. I was surprised to learn that my previous issues with breath-play had been neatly circumvented. I’ve had breath-play on my limit list since the first time someone had put their hands around my throat and I immediately experienced a stabbing headache. I though this was probably a bad idea.*

The Ongoing Epic Battle Royale about breath-play aside? I’m an advocate of only doing shit the outcome of which you’re prepared to handle. That stabbing headache occurred even with mild pressure restricting the flow of oxygen to my brain or air to my lungs, so it was right out.

The Dominant Guy happens to enjoy this type of play, and he has partners with whom he can explore that, so I did not think I’d be the recipient of such an event as a full blown breathplay scene.

A couple of weeks ago my full-time employment-centric lifestyle evaporated, much more quickly that I thought would be the case in my life. That same week I received word that my roomie, who is awesome, was moving out as she and her girlfriend had found a place.

All this as I was returning from a trip back east to DC for a conference and was bracing for the long trip to Chicago and NY.

Additionally I had an impossibly full weekend with the Mr. SF Leather contest, and I was slated to do a demo for a dungeon party and was having the damnedest time finding a demo top I could trust to do the type of play you need to do for a demo, and with whom I had some connection.

I am fortunate. I am lucky to have “Grown up” in one of the more vibrant and open cities when it comes to alternative lifestyles. As a magnet for all manner of freaks, San Francisco is one of the crossroads: all of the “Big Name Fancy Perverts” come on through.

My favourite part of getting to know high-profile kinksters is when I realize that they are “just folks” and than their knowledge and standing and cred doesn’t make them inaccessible. One of the women I have respected for a very long while is Lolita Wolf, and I am fortunate enough to have had our paths cross, and have been able to go from dorky fan girl to dorky fangirl and occasional fortunate recipient of her amazing attentions.

After I managed to stammer out some doofy inquiry, I wound up landing myself spot #23 on her“100 Divas”list. And never in my life have I been so glad to have been twenty-third.

Fireplay can be a dramatic and sexy aspect of BDSM play. Whether you are doing a quick swipe of someone’s skin with flash-paper or using some high falutin’ fire floggers, it is certainly an eye-catching and showy scene.

Unless you set everything on fire.

I was recently reminded of a scene I saw many years ago where a bottom, bring topped by four domly types, was in the midst of a serious piercing scene and one of the sadistic bastards sprayed the gal to saturated, with alcohol, to make the needles sting even more.

Then someone else had the bright idea of running current through the needles with a violet wand.Continue reading »

Dark moods are not unknown to me. Though I have many fewer now than I did even a year ago, and by orders of magnitude fewer today than I did when I a still actively drinking myself to death. the (up?down?)side to this is that today, I am committed to turning my heart to face these moods and riding them instead of suffocating them in the sickly miasma of a sloppy drunk.

I had no reason, on the surface, to be as wracked with emotional pain as I was on Saturday night. I mean, here I was, at a kink event, among friends, having taught the most highly attended class at the event even though I’d flown in last-minute. Literally. Hit the tarmac and within 2 hours was in front of a room full of people talking about BDSM, sharing my thoughts, listening to theirs, gloriously supported by my wonderful friends. I’d even been asked by two kick-ass kids who run the Young & Kinky Podcast to do an interview. Benny and Jinx are so awesome, and it was so delightful to meet and get to know them a little. Plus it was saving me from having to be around so many people…

And yet later I sat in a dark parking lot, ass prickled by bushes, sobbing my sinuses shut and pouring out my jangled thoughts on Twitter / Facebook.

A few years back, I saw an insanely rough sex moment in an adult flick.

A man was hitting it doggie style, shagging the hell out of a woman while pulling her arms into a painful stretch behind her. He then abruptly folded her arms together on the small of her back, swung his leg up to the couch, and planted his foot firmly on her head.

Suffice to say I found this deprecating cruelty terribly arousing. Pervert, remember?

Then a few months ago I came across the same thing again, and squealed in delight.

And then I wondered…as I often do, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

OK, pervs…come on. Is that not…hot??

It could only be better were he fully clothed, wearing boots. There is something hot and humiliating about being nude when your partner is fully dressed.

I simply adore the sensation of being vulnerable and bare in front of someone who is dressed and dominant. If clothes make the man, boots make the man hot as fuck.

Shibaricon marked the first BDSM Convention for which I’d made multiple play-dates, all of which I initiated. I’ve spent the past year-and-a-half of so building up my kink résumé with many events, cons and classes: and all but a handful of them were out of state. I haven’t played much locally of late, and I have a very particular approach to letting people cane, slap, punch, whip, bind, beat and abuse me. Call me picky but the way I need to play, if I’m gonna fucking do it, requires people with a certain level of skill, compassion, emotional and physical attractiveness that is a rare fucking thing to find in mutuality.

As it happens, my travels have allowed me the privilege of meeting and mixing with kinksters from coast-to coast and, in my crazybrave mode, I managed to get up the nerve to actually ask for play-dates with several people I’d admired for varying lengths of time. Some I’d admired from afar for years, and some people I’d only recently met, but felt that easy bond of trust and friendship I think of as “Spiritual Family.” Shibaricon turned out to be stellar when it came to that type of connection, and I am still mulling how wonderfully the stars aligned to make that experience as unique as it was.

One of the high points, for me, was the opportunity to not only spend time with but also play with a woman I’ve admired since before I even had my first taste of real-time BDSM. That is Lolita Wolf. She is someone whose name I’d run across in my exhaustive year of pre-scene research: this being the soul-crunching time I spent before going real-time in the scene. Reading books, lurking on mailing lists, websites, et al. There aren’t many women I’d found whose opinions seemed straightforward, stripped of gloss, faux mystique and the veneer that made so many people talking about kink seem, to me, “personalities” rather than “people.” Lolita walked the walk, talked the talk and was so down to earth I felt like I knew her before I met her, several years later, at a local BDSM event.

Fast forward to today, when our social circles overlap and we now run into one another at kink events now and then. And finally I worked up the nerve to ask for a play-date. Admittedly, it was a bit of a roundabout “ask.” Over diner with friends at the Sex 2.0 Conference, there was a lighthearted discussion about Lolita’s”100 Diva’s” list, and how one became eligible, and I waved my hand in the air like a kid in the back row who really had to pee and asked if I might be a candidate to be one of the 100. Not that I consider myself a “Diva,” as I am far too dorky, but it was as good an “in” as any, right?

My knuckles pressed into the pale hollow formed by his hip as the muscles and bone slipped beneath skin damp from the shower, and I slid my hand up his side, ribs evident beneath an expanse of freckles.

“Yeah that happens when your focus on food being pleasurable shifts: you don’t really think much about eating. A protein bar is fine…” he trailed off as I wound my leg around his much longer one, my body shifted towards him and my breast was within reach.

“But your tummy issues are better?” I slid my arm under his head, hair damp, my chin on his forehead.

“Yeah…”

His reddish goatee scratching a heated trail of skin sensitized by the scrubbing sensation from my throat to my mouth as his insistent lips caught and nipped skin eliciting my sharp inhalations that drove him to more aggressive exploration of my body his hands pulling and pinching and twisting an arm between my legs my knee bent his elbow on my thigh and wait somehow under my head. His blue eyes meeting my myopic brown ones he pulls off my glasses and I laugh

“Now I can’t see…”

“You wanna keep your glasses on?”

“It might be interesting to see how long they last.”

He is close enough that I can see him his gaze dropping from mine to slide appreciatively down my body as he grabs fistfuls of me rippling reverberations of almost subaudible desire a counterpoint to one hand on my hip another squeezing the flesh on my belly and another or is it the first hand on the back of my neck nipple caught I must have lost track of his hands but one now is insinuating between my thighs going for my pussy but I keep my legs tightly together until his leveraging wins the day.

“Why are…open your legs, baby…” and though I’d usually comply something makes me shy at that moment absurd yes but once he gets the upper hand as it were he quickly realized the subtext of my reluctance is that “Goddamn your pussy is wet baby…” Fingers slipping in the flagrant fragrant evidence of my complete inability to “play it cool” once I’m raring to go and I was distracted from being embarrassed soon enough since I was shortly focused on his cock as it prized open my jaw and my hand gripped in that pushpull reaction I tend to have when getting face fucked. But when I have a gagging mouth full of cock I’m not necessarily able to do my best…work…as it were so I push away harder the barest edge of my teeth tugging lightly on the skin of his cock and…

…there…

…the perfect depth angle and position for me to…

“Ahhhhfucking hell my god baby you are such a good little cocksucker …” a violent hiss of breath and his cock is rapidly a fading memory on my dripping tongue as he pulls me over towards him with his free hand, the other busily fisting his upthrust cock “I have to fuck you. Right now. Right fucking now…” condom on…then his balled up fists on either side of my head his muscled forearms on either side of my face as he fucks his cock into my cunt my hands my fingers my fingernails dig into the sway of his back my breath caught in my throat as my feet

…my … feet…?

my feet feel as though they are on fire then legs hands shaking… my body begins a slow implosion that will I know take him with me but for him slowing down slowing slowing even as I’m on the brink of an orgasm then the brink is past and my own eyes rolled back into my head are blind to anything but the punishing reward of an orgasm that smites me from myself even as the tendons in his neck reflect the immense willpower he exerts as he holds fast on the brink over which I’ve already fallen and I regain a bit of the present and he is slow slow rolling slow “No…not yet…not yet…not yet…” his mantra as the muscles on the underside of my legs aftershock to their own seismic sexuality and I breathe one two feeling that no it isn’t over not yet, not yet and I laugh through my nose as he leans in to whisper that he “Isn’t done yet…” and I slide. Deeper, deeper and further.

If you were at the FUCKING AWESOME Shibaricon in Chicago this past weekend, you know how much WIN was contained therein.

I’ve been traveling bunches this past 6 months or so. More than ever before in conjunction with BDSM scene events. Much of the time, I spend an inordinate amount of time in my room watching Deadliest Catch marathons, or insanely mindblowingly shitty B-Movies and Twittering.

Not this time.

Not only had I worked up the ovaries to ask several people to play, I had an extra guest ticket to the event. Rather than moping about not having a date, I enlisted the help of a friend from Twitter to sort of be my ConBuddy and nudger. Someone there to poke me if I was hiding and who was tasked, if I needed it, to hide with me so I felt that much less lame.

And you know what? She may well have been my lucky charm because so much fell into place.

I hit the ground calmly, even though I missed the Presenters Welcoming speech, etc. My flight was taxiing when it began and goodness knows ORD is a HUGE place to navigate when you are in a hurry!

I had a lovely supper with Viviane, and took a stroll around the playspace, but went to ground early. Mostly because I was a but bummed I couldn’t work out any of the play-dates I was hoping to have into that first night, but also because I have someone who has caught my fancy and I was looking forward to chatting with him before it got too late.

I did manage to run into the several with whom I wanted to play, so we reconnected in that way.

This was a magic con for that. I literally ran into who I needed to see precisely when I needed to see them, over and over and over.

I even managed to have some of “Ah, there you are, I’ve been expecting you!” moments of connectivity with Old Friends I’d not yet met.

Very magical. I bonded with some women of intense power this weekend. and to them I give my deepest thanks for touching my heart.

My class wasn’t until the last day of the con, and early morning at that, so I was free and loose most of the weekend. I DID have the appearance in the Cabaret show on Saturday night, and that was a lot of fun!

Note to self: wearing my ST:TOS uniform is a guaranteed way to garner much fanboy and fangirl love. I mean, hey, who HASN’T fantasized about gang-roping Uhura?? Really.

So did she play? This is the question!

After a shitload of Cons, and the last scene I’ve had being at KinkFest in Portland…in 2008 (!!!!) I am proud to say I finally have broken the drought.

Big time.

The inimitable Lolita Wolf broke the seal, in more ways that one. I was able to chat with her earlier in the evening, finally find a place to play and yegodholyhell the woman knows her way around a butt.

And she didn’t even get mad when I …um…well…was rather copiously grateful for her attentions. Grateful enough to spread copiousness all over her crinoline and onto her boots.

This was followed up by a really, really fun scene with Lqqout, who I managed to not only beat in a nipple-twisting contest, but also tagged in the grapes while I was in a partial suspension. Yay me!

Sunday was busy with classes, and more fun, as a friend I’d met at Beyond Leather and i got together for a very intense scene. Having never played with Deiter before, I was not at all certain what to expect but i think now I can expect a really wonderful intensity and awesome time. Oh and lost of delectable roughness.

Sunday evening wrapped up with a surprisingly cathartic scene with Gray, who managed to create space enough for me to lose myself to complete and upper break-down-sobbing-tears by the end of the scene…and I am fairly certain I was speaking in tongues there by the end.

Hey…its what I do.

I even got him to safeword later in the evening. Even the most famous tops bow before the mighty might of…The Chicken Dance.

My class was at the asscrack of dawn (Hey, 10:00 AM on the Monday closing day of a 4-Day con is BRUTAL, y’all!) but the attendance was great, the people in the class were SO present and supportive and the demo was truly inspired. Much love to Gray, Lqqout and Deiter for their ebilz…and extra love to Lqqout for being my truffle hero!

I am deeply grateful to each and every person who was there. You made it worthwhile to me.

If you DID attend my class, and you enjoyed it, and would like to have Shibaricon invite me back and sponsor more classes from the bottom / submissive POV, why not drop a note and let them know that? guests at Shibaricon dot com is the address :-)

Thankfully I bookended the trip with another night at the hotel. Managed to stave off some of the drop by decompressing with friends, relaxing, leaving at a leisurely pace. Most wonderfully I had the chance to spend time with some of the Shibaricon Staff and those are some badass fuckers right there, let me tell you.

My Aftercare Truffles for Tops were a big hit, by the way. If you are a bottom type person, consider treating the person who whips you into a sobbing puddle of ooze to a delectable after they take you down to subspace and leave you dangling over the edge, only to pull you back.

They’ll appreciate the thought :-)

And the nommables!

Even when they do mindfuck you into thinking they’ve eated you precious, precious White Chocolate Key Lime Pie truffles from See’s.